Posts Tagged ‘packing’

1. The weather. The winter hardly compares to Liechtenstein, but it did snow the other day. Granted, not in Dubai itself, but Ras Al Khaimah, another one of the emirates. I could certainly have done with squeezing my midseasonal coat into my suitcase!

2. A racist doorman. When I had peeps over for lunch on Saturday all my caucasian friends simply waltzed upstairs, but Shennie Pie was obstructed by the security guy. Sad, but true.

3. To sit in the lounge with my housemate playing scrabble – on line. We decided it´s not geeky, as long as we don´t descend to Interweb chatting 😉

Kim: So tomorrow morning I have to pack and make scrambled eggs before we go.
T: What about our walk on the beach?
Kim: We can fit that in too. The sun rises so early here, I’ve been getting up at like…
T: At like seven?
Kim: No, at like eight-thirty!

I managed to get barely an hour´s sleep, only to be woken by Kate´s panicked voice: “Trinks, you´ve pressed snooze twice already. Your bus leaves in half an hour. You need to get up!”

I staggered out of bed. I really needed a shower. I also needed to finish packing. Admittedly, I had half-packed the day before, which, at the time, I thought was a supremely cunning plan. Alas, it turned out to be only 50 per cent of a cunning plan.

I stumbled round the room, randomly chucking items in my suitcase. One of these items was my new laptop. Somehow it didn´t occur to me that a) there are computers in the UK, and b) their plugs are different. As well as the laptop and attendant paraphenalia, I blithely packed my camera charger, my phone charger, and my iPod charger. Overall, I must have lugged at least 5kg of incompatible technological equipment across the sea for no good reason.

And this was before I even began on the clothes. I was at a loss without Moral Squeeze to restrain me, and packing, as you may have guessed, has never been my forte.

“Should I take the long black dress or the little black dress?” I asked Kate indecisively. She patiently advised the latter, while I stumbled around some more. “Where is my eyeliner? I simply cannot go to London without my eyeliner,” I declared. (Nevermind the fact I rarely use eyeliner, since I am unable to apply it without looking like some kind of racoon, despite having previously worked at a fashion and beauty magazine).

“Trinks, I think you are still drunk. And in the throws of an extended Bridget Jones moment!” said Kate, barely surpressing her laughter. “I don´t want to be Bridget!” I wailed, conveniently forgetting that some years ago I had attended a fancy-dress party (theme: the fictional character you most resemble) as none other than Ms Jones. Call it part of my mispent youth.

Back to the dilemma of the moment. “I don´t want to be Bridget!” I wailed. “I am a strong independent women. Without issues. And with sexy underwear. Not at all like Bridget!” I sounded pathetic, and strangely unconvincing, even to myself. But, despite histrionics, we were in fact (almost) ready to hit the road. I grabbed a bottle of chardonnay and my Silk Cuts and we made a dash the bus stop.

My day didn´t get better. Without Kate around to jolly me out of my hangover, I was stuck in travelling hell. In brief, my itinerary looked like this:

1. Bus from Vaduz to Sargans
2. Train from Sargans to Basel
3. Bus from Basel to EuroAirport*
4. Flight from EuroAirport to London Luton**
5. Bus from Luton to Victoria***
6. Train from Victoria to New Malden
7. Walk from New Malden station to Elm Road
8. Collapse into bed****

* The EuroAirport is cool. One airport, three countries. Believe it, because it´s true! I also ate some very expensive food there, which made me feel slightly more human (although still primarily alien).
** Note to self, and other travellers. It is a much more pleasant experience getting felt up by svelte Swiss security staff than their British counterparts.
*** There is a reason that flights to Luton are cheap. Because it isn´t even in the middle of nowhere. It´s like, far out on the edge of nowhere, when “somewhere” is on the opposing edge.
**** That would have been nice. But I had plans for the evening. Plans that had been booked and prepaid on the Interweb.

In my German class yesterday evening, I noticed that my teacher was wearing exactly the same outfit she wore on Monday – white pants and a floral top, not a particularly flattering get up, even on its first outing.

Made me think of Pim: during my childhood I used to worry that his students would laugh at him for invariably dressing in the same khaki pants and veldskoene, but he always reassured me with geological nonsenses: “The students don’t notice what I wear. They are only interested in hearing about the tessellated conglomerates.”

How wrong he was!

I clearly remember Miss H in Std 5, who had three cardigans sporting the same zig-zag pattern: one was black, red, and white; one was indigo, lilac, and white; one was forest green, melon green, and, (you’ve guessed it!) white. We used to place bets on which one she’d wear each day – much more exciting than doing our Maths homework.

And Mr S in first year philsophy, who was overly attached to his thin maroon jersey… If he had varied his wardrobe even slightly, I might have been induced to attend more lectures.

I hope that my own clothes don’t bore the students to death. I can’t display quite my usual flair as I currently have only four scarves to work with (thanks to packing-Nazi friend, Moral Squeeze).

As soon as I have some Swiss francs to my name, I shall have to go shopping. I know that M, a chubby 14-year-old pupil who has a crush on me, will appreciate an updated look. The catch is, I might have to fly MS over here to help me pack for my return flight!